


Taken

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Hurt boy, Major Character Injury, Malcolm Bright Whump, Whump, Whumptober, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: A madman has kidnapped Malcolm and is taking him to his hiding place, slowly and painfully.Mostly Malcolm angst! And protective team.Based on the whumptober prompt: "Dragged away"





	Taken

There’s a weird sound, and it takes Malcolm a long while to realise it his own breathing. Wheezing, high pitched, horrible. Every breath is like hell and he’s quite sure that he’s tasting blood. Someone is dragging him away through what feels like a forest’s stony path, carrying him too roughly from an arm, as if he were a sack of potatoes. And it hurts. Everything hurts.

His head is the worst. The world is still fuzzy, but Malcolm thinks he remembers been knocked out with a blow to the head. The side of his head is pulsating and covered in something. Probably blood. His chest hurts too, hurts a lot. He thinks that he may have been kicked there and in the stomach too. He thinks he may have been kicked everywhere.

The man keeps walking, Malcolm keeps making those awful while he breathes. He wishes he would pass out again, so he wouldn’t have to feel the floor underneath him, breaking the skin, causing a million little wounds. He wishes he would pass out so he wouldn’t have to feel that. Feel everything.

The pain. The cold. The steps.

It feels like it’s never going to end. It feels like all his life he’s been there, being dragged by one arm. It feels like his whole life he’s going to be there, hanging by one arm, being more and more broken, more and more cold.

Malcolm wants to fight him, or say something, scream for help, and yet he can’t do any of those things. If he can’t breathe, he can’t talk. If he can’t talk, he can’t scream. If he can’t think, he can hardly move, much less convince a madman to let him go. He can only wheeze, painfully, and taste blood when he manages a cough. This is all he can do.

It hurts to see, when he opens an eye. (He can’t open the other one. He hopes it’s just swollen shut and not something more permanent). He can only see road and the pants and shoes of the man. He can’t remember what he looks like. He can’t remember anything except for things that hurt him.

Dead people. Blood on his face. People he couldn’t save.

Disappointment. Hatred. Disgust. All those feelings he ever inspired on people.

Maybe he deserves this. There was enough punishment for him, for being who he was, for being what he was. Deep down, he knows that there’s a bit of a monster in him. A darkness. He’s tried to use it for good, but….

Maybe a sweet peaceful passing would be too sweet for him.

He deserves being dragged away, doesn’t he? He does.

He can see a faint trail of blood from where he’s been dragged. If the others have come to a similar conclusion as him and are able to find this man it will be easier to find him. Just follow the red trail. It's a nice thought. 

His chest hurts even worse. It’s too tight and it hurts too much. They are going uphill now. It seems too long, it seems too far. He’s so cold. All his limbs are hurting, asking him to get some warmth, some shelter, something. To stop hurting himself.

But it’s all he ever does, no matter how much he tries to fight against, all he ever knows to do. Hurt himself, in one way or another. Going to visit his dad, refusing Gil’s food, getting into the line of fire, always first and always unarmed.

There’s blood in his mouth. The headache is getting worse.

The man opens a door and throws Malcolm to the other corner of the cabin, next to a couple of dead bodies and another living person. The stench is unbearable.

The man on top of him is smiling. Humiliation, powerlessness. This man targeted smart people who had made him feel bad and dragged them near naked to show his power.

He remembers now.

Lulled by the warmth of the cabin, Malcolm’s good eye closed.

*

It took a lot for Gil not to lose himself in some berserker rage when they found Bright. The officer had been getting more and more nervous as time passed, more anxious. And then they found the blood trail and he begun getting more and more worked up. This was Bright’s blood and he’d been bleeding all this way… They were practically sprinting by the time they got to the cabin.

Gil saw Malcolm’s prone figure and froze for a minute. No. This couldn’t be. The man tried to use this moment to escape but Gil was in no way going to let that happen. With the help of JT, they cuffed the man (maybe a bit too tight) and delivered him to the officers that had come as backup, so they would get him to the car, away for them.

Bastard. Monster.

Then JT went to check up on the still alive kidnappee, while Dani was cheking on Bright.

It broke her heart to see him like this, one eye swollen shut, face full of dried blood, broken and bleeding everywhere. Poor thing didn’t need more pain, or more nightmares.

“It’s okay, now. We’re here, we got you.” She said, softly to him, and then the others, nearly screaming “We need an ambulance here NOW! Tell them to bring the helicopter, whatever it takes!”

Gil looked at her with dread and a question in his eyes.

“He’s barely breathing. We need that ambulance and we need it now.”

Gil ordered around the rest of the officers, made some frantic calls, screamed at dispatchers.

Dani tried to clean the blood and hold Bright, so that he would feel something soft and warm against him. He was so cold, so scratched up. This was wrong.

She told the paramedics to be careful, to be gentle as they took him away. Sure, they knew how to do their jobs, but…

They needed to be careful. They needed to be tender and smooth and soft with him. Alleviate him. Leave the roughness in the past.

*

When Malcolm woke up he was lying on something very soft. Careful inspection made him see that there were five extra pillows in his hospital bed. His wounds hurt less, were covered in some sort of cream (no sedatives, of course) and there they were.

Ainsley, Gil, Dani.

Bringing him home back from the horror with their soft warm smiles.

For every minute that someone drags you away we will spend an hour bringing you back.

Home.

Whole.

Protected.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You know you want to comment :) :) :)


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